Taken!
by Ranger's Scop
Summary: Where were his brothers? He is alone, on a field stained with the blood of his kin and foes. Or is he? Who's heavy steps draw near? A gift for a friend! R&R please!


Maedhros struggled up to his hands and knees, feeling a wave of nausea hit him. He struggled to keep his stomach down as he looked up. So quiet. It seemed just a few short moments ago this bloodstained field had been filled with the sounds of battle. Spots danced across his vision as he gazed around him. Where were his brothers? Had they won? Surely if they had won, Maglor would be here, bending worriedly over Maedhros in his quiet way. The redhead's gaze dropped and his head sagged; it ached from the blow he had received earlier. He could faintly recall the blow that had split his helmet asunder, then the darkness swallowed up the rest of the battle. Maedhros groaned and tried to keep his balance. Even though he was still on his hands and knees, the world tilted around him trying to drive him back to the ground.

Footsteps crunched on the ground front of him. They were too heavy to be Maglor's light tread, too firm to be Amras. Too crushing to be Celegorm or Curufin, and yet too widely spaced to be Caranthir. Maedhros couldn't look up again, not if he wanted to keep from being sick. He couldn't recognize the footsteps approaching him as he unknowingly tensed. Whoever it was, they seemed to be the only other living being on this battlefield. Whether he was friend or foe, Maedhros could not tell.

Everything grew quiet again as the footsteps fell silent a few inches from his face. Taking a shaking breath of death-scented air, Maedhros raised his head again. At what he saw, his heart failed within him and he had to force away his terror, along with his heaving stomach. In front of him stood Morgoth, terrible and dark as the void. A shudder passed through his body as he quickly averted his eyes. Hate welled within him and he wished he was not so weak from the devastating blow dealt to his head. Curse Morgoth and his foul army!

Sounds suddenly flood back into the field as orcs surrounded their master, beating upon their crude shields with delight. The horrible creatures leered down at him as he knelt helpless before their master. Screeching, sneering, screaming, they surrounded him clogging the air with their hideous noises. Maedhros writhed in horror and pain as their voices filled his ears. So his brothers had lost the day. Tears burned as he was sick. As he retched on the bloody earth, the sounds of those around him were lost for a few short seconds. Then they returned, and an emptiness accompanied it. Maedhros felt like his stomach would revolt again, were it not for the nothingness preventing him from doing so. He felt weak. Powerless.

Morgoth bent, wrapping a gauntlet clad hand around Maedhros' exposed throat. The redhead choked, his throat still raw and burning. Morgoth laughed a victorious and grating cackle. Maedhros jerked into a awareness as he was lifted from the ground, the gauntlet digging into the tender flesh of his neck. He struggled as Morgoth dragged him up off the ground and into the air. His height was no match for the Dark Vala, and his feet hovered over the torn ground. Maedhros turned his head, trying to twist from Morgoth's grasp.

There was no light in the sky, only perpetual darkness. Clouds formed a shield between the sky and earth blocking the sun's comforting rays. The dark seemed to deepen as Morgoth lifted his enemy higher, a victorious smile spreading across his features. A tainted laugh gurgled up from his lungs. Here he was on a field of victory, with a Feanorian in his grasp. At last!

Maedhros clenched his teeth, grappling the Dark Vala's arm with both of his, trying to release Morgoth's grip. The gauntlet tightened and the redhead choked. Air. He needed air. His eyes rolled back and he fought harder. Darkness edged his vision again, stars dancing along the gray edges. He was going to die. Maedhros' arms fell limply against his side and his body began to sag. The inky blackness reached out to lay hold of him again.

At the last possible moment, Morgoth released him. Maedhros fell to the ground, gasping and gulping in the foul air. He coughed, sputtering as he tried to regain his breath. However, Morgoth wasted no time. The Dark Vala was not about to let one of Feanor's sons die quickly. No. He had other plans for Maedhros, son of Feanor. Reaching down he grabbed the flaming hair of the Elf and dragged him across the field. No, he was not done with the Feanorian…he was not finished with Maedhros.


End file.
